All Of A Writer That Matters Is

The Feeling Of Sunday Is The Same Everywhere, Heavy, Melancholy, Standing Still.

They Say When Trouble Comes Close Ranks, And So The White People Did.

Every Word I Say Has Chains Round Its Ankles; Every Thought I Think Is Weighted With Heavy Weights. Since I Was Born, Hasn't Every Word I've Said, Every Thought I've Thought, Everything I've Done, Been Tied Up, Weighted, Chained? And Mind You, I Know That With All This I Don't Succeed. Or I Succeed In Flashes Only Too Damned Well. ...but Think How Hard I Try And How Seldom I Dare. Think - And Have A Bit Of Pity. That Is, If You Ever Think, You Apes, Which I Doubt.

Have All Beautiful Things Sad Destinies?

It's Funny, He Said, Have You Ever Thought That A Girl's Clothes Cost More Than The Girl Inside Them?